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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809579">cinnamon makes me think of you (and other things I thought I'd never say)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutelyamethyst/pseuds/absolutelyamethyst'>absolutelyamethyst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, I don't know how to tag this but nothing new there, Katara's a coffee-addicted grad student, Sokka didn't ask for this, Who let Aang work around these coffee machines anyway, Zuko works at a coffee shop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:47:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutelyamethyst/pseuds/absolutelyamethyst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: It’s not that Zuko hates his job, it’s just that he thinks his strengths lie elsewhere. It’s not like the last three years have done him any good--he’s no better off than when he started. </p><p>OR: the day Katara walks into Zuko’s coffee shop is the day his whole life changes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sunrise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello yes welcome to the madness~</p><p>this is a coffeeshop au-meets-soulmate au with a modern twist (man that's a mouthful) and i've no idea what i'm going to do with it but i do know that it will involve angst and shippy fluff SO buckle up folks, and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s not that he hates his job. He likes it. It’s a good job. Really, if he thinks about it, he doesn’t have a reason </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to like it. The people are sort of nice, and making coffee every day is sort of...mindless. He can think about other things while he works. Think about whatever he wants. Things like--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...actually, maybe that’s not a good thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not the best job, but it’s the only one he’s got, and there’s no point in moping over it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The coffee shop he works at is in the middle of the city. It’s smaller than the other buildings around it, and covered in brick that’s aged and turning gray. It would be a pretty building if the other buildings around it weren’t so much nicer; sleek and tall, each of them hold dozens of floors. The surrounding skyscrapers look like they’d puncture the sky if they were any taller.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has this habit, when he’s forced to work opening shifts. The building itself might not be nice, but it always pierces the sunset, makes the light bend around it so that the edges of the rooftop look like they’re shining gold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today, the sunrise has painted the sky a light pink. Pale yellow clouds snake through streaks of scarlet pastels. The moon’s still hanging overhead, just a sliver of silver among the vibrant tangles, and there’s a flock of great-winged birds soaring overhead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The morning air is fresh, cold in Zuko’s lungs as he inhales, shuts his eyes, breathes it all in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A car </span>
  <em>
    <span>zooms </span>
  </em>
  <span>past him and slams on its horn, shrieking at some car some feet away. The sound startles him, and he grumbles as he walks away from his car, his heart beating frantically, a perfect moment ruined. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shop is, as he expected, in total chaos when he walks inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko!” The manager on duty is already tired looking, which </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn’t a good sign. “We have a new employee today, the inventory guy is late, and--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s this machine do?” A high-pitched boy’s voice asks. “Hey, Sokka, what-- ow! </span>
  <em>
    <span>OWowowow--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aang!” Sokka’s eyes widen as he moves, his hands sweeping anxiously over his uniform as he ducks into the kitchen. “What did I say about touching things before we show you how they work?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cursing, Zuko follows him into the kitchen. The employee in question is a boy with brown hair, cropped close around his head. He’s short, and he’s got a bounce in his step as he walks away from the espresso machine, twisting his hands together in an attempt to soothe the fierce red skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...just don’t touch anything for a sec, ‘kay?” Sokka’s eyebrows pinch together as he turns back around toward Zuko, a pained look on his face. “Mind coming into the office?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko shrugs. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their office is like everything else in the shop--small and cramped--but Sokka slides into the desk chair and Zuko shuts the door. They both sigh. Outside, Zuko can hear one of the other employees teaching Aang how to use the blender. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s like he’s never been in a kitchen before,” Sokka mutters, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe I--I should have looked at his application better, he’s got </span>
  <em>
    <span>no experience </span>
  </em>
  <span>and we’re so understaffed--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s...gonna be okay,” Zuko mumbles, far too softly. “I’m here now--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka snorts quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--and you’re here, and it’s only nine in the morning and I’m already stressed--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and me both,” Sokka snorts again, then curses. “Screw this, I need coffee.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good thing we’re in a coffee shop,” Zuko says dryly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka stands up, slips past him, and promptly elbows Zuko in the stomach. “Oops,” he grins, unashamed. “My bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the truck comes in the next half hour and they all--Aang included, surprisingly--unload and keep note of their new stock. They replenish, then get to the rest of opening. And it all gets done. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure how long the girl outside has been standing at the entrance when he finally notices her, but she locks eyes with him and his whole body goes cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s at the door,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s head jerks up from beneath the counter. “What? Already?” He rolls his eyes. “What is it with people and coffee?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says the guys that’s already inhaled three--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sokka flails as he stands up and dances around the edge of the front counter. Then he groans. “For the love of--it’s just Katara.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My sister?” Sokka turns toward him, frowns. “Two years younger than me, really annoying?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Really pretty, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zuko’s brain supplies, unhelpfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t believe she’s here this early,” Sokka grumbles, his voice drifting away as he walks to the door. “Katara, what the hell do you want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“First day of the new semester, remember?” The girl crosses her arms, her head tilting as her expression warps into a look that could absolutely melt Sokka on the spot. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Some of us </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually like school.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not me,” Sokka retorts, huffing. “I like my job.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl--Katara--raises a perfectly curved eyebrow. “Really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka groans, a disgruntled snort puffing through him as he turns toward the counter--and Zuko. “If you’re gonna order something, do it and get out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very nice,” Katara says, frowning. “You could probably get in trouble for talking to me like that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her words stop Sokka in his tracks. He freezes, and a tense silence settles between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko watches them with keen interest. Their relationship is interesting--not exactly comfortable, but not exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>un</span>
  </em>
  <span>comfortable either. They’re just--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A burning sensation creeps up his arm, and he looks down--half expecting to be too close to one of the warmers beneath the counter--and finds a small mark sparkling to life on the skin just below his wrist. It’s small, not too much darker than his skin tone, but it’s bright and it’s warm and it honestly sort of hurts. He rubs his thumb over it, but it doesn’t change how it looks at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bites his lip. Katara breaks away from her standoff with Sokka and starts creeping closer to the register. Zuko’s heart is racing. He backs away from the register, still gripping his arm. The mark burns hotter the closer Katara gets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s on the edge of panicking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The side door opens. Suki enters, her short brown hair flying in tangles around her neck and ears. She haphazardly puts on her apron and ducks around the corner--gone before Zuko can say anything to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands are shaking and his palms are sweaty. His knees feel like they could give out at any moment and he genuinely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>genuinely </span>
  </em>
  <span>has no idea what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>is happening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Suki,” he calls, steadying himself against the counter. “Could you--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No can do!” Comes her shrill response. “I was called in specifically to help the new kid.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi!” Aang yells. “That’s me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shhh,” Suki tuts, “we’re open now, no yelling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Aww,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Aang sighs, but he goes quiet. Luckily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara’s nearly at the counter now. The mark isn’t as hot, but it’s still aching. And Katara is--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--twisting her hands together, over and over, folding her thin fingers into each other as she reaches up, one hand shaking, to grab the backpack strap hanging over her shoulder. She blinks up at the menu, and her eyes are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>blue--</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have a--hey, are you okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um.” He makes the mistake of looking into her eyes and promptly forgets how to speak. Entirely. “Um, yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O...kay.” Katara stares at him briefly, then looks back up at the menu. “What’s in a chai tea latte?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” He has to force himself to close his mouth. “Sorry, I--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s in,” she interrupts, “a chai tea latte?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, he forgets everything he knows. His brain is foggy. The mark is still an uncomfortable twinge below his wrist. And the girl’s hands are still shaking, and she places her arms on the counter, palms outward and her forearms extended to reveal a mark identical to his--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her expression is quickly getting irritated. He stares at her, trying to remember her question, then sputters out, “Uh, chai?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes narrow, and her expression turns stormy so quickly that Zuko’s surprised she doesn’t murder him then and there. “Whatever,” she mutters, drumming her fingers irritably on the counter. “Give me that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Zuko’s cheeks flame. “What size?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Small.” Katara blinks. “Wait--large.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s already keyed it in when she corrects herself--he grunts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she mumbles again, and he shrugs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hands him her card, then moves to wait over to the side. He makes her drink. Chai tea latte. Cinnamon on top. The smell wafts into the air around him, filling the whole kitchen with the spicy scent, and he can’t help but smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chai tea latte,” he says, brushing the earlier awkwardness aside. “For...Katara?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s the only one in the shop, but she’s on the phone and her cheeks redden when he calls her name. “That’s me,” she says, smiling at him. “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He returns her grin. “No problem.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns, and Zuko catches sight of her mark again. His grows dimmer as she walks away, and he has no idea what </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>means, but he can guess. And it makes him nervous--terrified, really, but excited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d always thought soulmates were a myth--a legend, some sort of fairy tale, along with princesses kissing frogs and the allegedly “happy” ending. Except...here he is, and the pain he’s felt is very real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a puzzle--a mystery. And he doesn’t have to figure it out now, but the pain that sparks beneath his mark as Katara leaves, that’s real too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For hours after she leaves the shop, he can’t get the smell of cinnamon out of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs to see her again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just needs to get past Sokka first. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Starstruck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which confusion becomes determination, and Zuko really just needs a nap.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A split-POV chapter that's shorter than its predecessor but not really because the first chapter of this fic was never meant to be that long. </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His shift ends and he finishes restocking in a dull haze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything is blurry--vague, and the spot on his arm is hot and cold all at once. His bones ache. He’s tired and his thoughts come dimly and slowly, like his brain’s made of mush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something is wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been tired before, but not like this--never like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands up, a box in his hands, and he sways with the weight of it, his knees cracking, aching as he stands up straight. He grimaces, then sets the box down on the counter with a huff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue eyes, tired and squinting up at the menu, lips set into a fierce hard line, one hand clamped over her other as her mark rises to the surface, dark against her skin, a water-droplet shape that’s so different from his own and yet--</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--ko? Zuko, you in there?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Man you’re out of it today,” Sokka whistles, leaning against the counter. “Did something happen?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zuko thinks. “No,” he says out loud. Then, like an idiot, “your sister came in earlier--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka snorts. “Yeah, she always insists on coming in before classes. I--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko makes a face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--don’t know what she insisted on going to grad school for, but she says she likes it, even if it makes her crazy.” Sokka tugs the box out of Zuko’s hands and opens it, adding, “and I do mean crazy. She’s insane. All those papers--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was her name again?” Zuko asks. He’s trying to be nonchalant. He really is. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Katara.” Sokka frowns. “Zuko--” he raises his voice just a little and turns to face Zuko, his eyes narrowing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, Sokka--” he can see where this is going, he can see where this is going and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t like it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But my </span>
  <em>
    <span>sister, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And how does he explain? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a single, terrible moment, he’s held under the weight of Sokka’s blue-eyed gaze and his thoughts crash into each other in a single stream of total panic. His mouth opens and closes as he fumbles for words, but he finally turns away and places both hands on the counter, steadying himself. He grabs the box back from Sokka’s grasp and unloads it himself; the cookies crackle as he grabs them, the plastic stiff and frozen from the sheer cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he hears Sokka curse from somewhere behind him, an exasperated breath leaving him. He walks off and shuts the door to the office, still mumbling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko works furiously, unloading the box of all its contents. A cookie falls off the counter and onto the floor; in a rush, Zuko catches it, then slams it onto the counter with a curse of his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t notice anything wrong with it until a second later, after he’s thrown the box by the back door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the cookies are iced over, but the one that fell is melted, the plastic soft and wet, a ring of condensation around it as Zuko picks it up to examine it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Melted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zuko frowns at it, completely dumbfounded, until the bell by the front door rings and a customer enters and the world around him starts moving again. It’s ten minutes past when he was supposed to leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Confused and utterly exhausted, he shoves the cookies into their proper display. He clocks out and leaves without another word to anyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slams the back door so hard the piping above him rattles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about a lot of things on his way home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>to upset Sokka. He hadn’t even thought about it, really--what it must be like to have a good relationship with your sibling, what it must be like to be that protective over someone else. His own sister was...distant, at best. They’d never gotten along. Sometimes Zuko wondered if Azula even remembered he existed--she was so caught up in their father’s wants and needs and in his business’ affairs that she’d never seemed to care about anything else, growing up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Sokka is...</span>
  <em>
    <span>well--</span>
  </em>
  <span>difficult, sometimes. He’ll probably get over it. Maybe Zuko will get lucky--maybe he’ll forget the whole thing ever happened. Maybe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...probably not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko might sometimes possibly absolutely hate his job, but at least his boss is okay. Usually. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells himself, grimacing. Tomorrow, he’ll go back in and explain things to Sokka. Yes. Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hi Sokka, a weird mark appeared on my arm when your sister walked into the cafe yesterday and I think we’re soulmates. Can I have her phone number?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah--that’ll go over well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops at a light and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. He’s tired--he has a college application waiting on him when he gets home. He hasn’t told anyone. Even thinking about it makes him wince. College is scary--scary </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and unlike Azula, he can’t make a living on his inheritance alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gods, he’s just one big failure, isn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katara wakes up cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her head feels muddled; she’s groggy as she rolls over, glares blearily at the clock. It’s past one in the morning. There’s a car alarm wailing outside, and it’s still completely dark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart is racing. She sits up and pulls her knees close to her chest, shuts her eyes and tries to breathe in deeply, slowly, steadily, but it doesn’t work. She’s frantic--terrified of something she can’t place, can’t describe, can’t name, and as she picks her sheets off her clammy skin, she starts to wonder if the panic is hers at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought stops her dead in her tracks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reaches sideways and flicks on the lamp by her bed, then stares down at her forearm, her pulse roaring in her ears. She’s been staring at it all day and yet it’s the first time she’s seen it for what it is--a soulmark, a droplet surrounded by flames. It’s warm and cold all at once, and when she touches it, it pulses with a feeling she can’t describe, but it’s real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bites her lip and settles back down into her blankets, one hand back over the mark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mother had always told her stories like this, but she’d never believed it was true. Soulmarks--and soulmates just in general--had always sounded like something out of a fairy tale, and she’s long since stopped believing in those. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But maybe just once--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the logical part of her brain whispers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it can’t be real. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>whispers the girl who never grew up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s always a chance. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mark starts to burn, and as the panic edges into a dull haze, Katara settles the thought in her chest, determination a gentle nudge into the necessity of sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow--tomorrow she’ll follow the mark. Tomorrow she’ll find her soulmate.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Shimmering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which chaos happens, worries are confirmed, and good things happen in the end--or start to.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Something… something is very wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wakes up in the same panic he always does, but then he realizes it’s his day off and he manages to sleep for another few minutes before he wakes up again, his heart still racing, his mind still whirling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And slowly, like they’re coming through some small crack in his brain, he can hear her. Feel her. The girl from the coffee shop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Katara. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s stressed--when he shuts his eyes, he catches a glimpse of the street corner two blocks down from the cafe, sees the pavement beneath her boots as she runs. She’s panting, gasping for air as she heads around the corner. Her keys jingle in her hand. And all the while, she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>late, late, late </span>
  </em>
  <span>as she takes another step. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She trips; her bare shoulder scuffs the edge of a brick-laid corner, and then pain sends Zuko upright. He grabs his arm, hissing in a pained breath, and blinks as the vision disappears and his mind becomes his own again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart is racing now, beating so hard it feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest. He shuts his eyes and scrubs one cold hand over his face, curses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What the hell is happening to him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs-- he needs--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smoke? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The smell pierces the air and he looks up, frantic, trying to figure out where it’s coming from but to no avail. Everything feels normal, but he can’t get the burning feeling out of his head, out of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The world turns slowly fuzzy, and as he clenches inward, gripping his blankets tighter in his fists, the air pops and warms around him, growing sweaty, stifling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shoves away the blankets in a flurry of movement, then stares down at the spots where his hands had been. His eyes widen. The two palm-sized spots where he’d gripped the wool and fuzz are ashen, crumbling--burned. Had he held them any longer, they might have caught on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fire. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He blinks, a disbelieving smile tugging at his lips as he drops the blankets. There’s absolutely no way he could have done this--he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the coffee-guy with the--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…..with the very suspicious-looking mark on his arm and the weird visions-apparent and--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, so many normal’s out the window. Most likely. Probably. Okay, definitely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He stares at the blankets in stunned silence, numb. There’s got to be a way forward--some step he needs to take, someone he can ask questions to. And at least… on the other side of this, there’s someone else who might know what he’s feeling. That thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a comforting one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So why does he feel so alone?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, she’s really good at ignoring the mark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like she has a choice; teaching doesn’t come easily to her, so when she’s at the front of the classroom, everything else fades away. Even the thought of the strange mark on her arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter if the mark burns every once in a while, or if she’ll suddenly get a flash of a memory she doesn’t recognize. She’s here is to teach--to get through they day without shouting or screaming or breaking something. Her job is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to wonder aimlessly about the mark on her arm, and her job is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to head right to Sokka’s cafe after class just to see if He (she doesn’t know his name, she absolutely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>should have paid attention to his name) is working. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara does it anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not crowded when she enters, and she’s grateful--campus holds noise on endless noise, and it does nothing for her focus--but a quick look around reveals that the boy from before isn’t here. She tries to curb the disappointment in her gut as she gets her drink, then picks a table to study. It’s fine. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s not like she came here just to see him or anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She finds a table then sets out her computer, notebook, papers, and a set of colored pens, then gently blows on her tea. Lesson planning is her least favorite part of teaching. She likes </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing--</span>
  </em>
  <span>being in the classroom, talking, moving around and listening to the students talk and think and </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn--</span>
  </em>
  <span>but she’s learning that planning is key and she supposes, however reluctantly, that there’s a place for plans in her crammed-full brain too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drinks her tea before it’s ready and it scalds her tongue, floods her face with steam and fills her nose with the smell of cinnamon and chai, but it triggers a memory, one that’s...hers and not quite her own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sensation hits her powerfully, and as she blinks, she’s suspended in midair for a moment. Crimson and azure energy float around her in sparkling swirls, twisting and twirling together as one cord, but never mixing, both colors free and pure and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mark </span>
  <em>
    <span>burns. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sets her jaw against the pain and forces her eyes open, blinking away the ache the energy-world leaves in her head. She stares at her laptop, Then at the table. Her hands are shaking. The memory...dream...</span>
  <em>
    <span>vision </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing leaves a sour taste in her mouth. She feels empty--lonely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like she’s missing a piece and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sense of lofty sort of thinking that’s she’s always tried to </span>
  <em>
    <span>avoid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She has to focus. She has </span>
  <em>
    <span>plans, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she doesn’t need a man, soulmate or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...soulmate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart drops into her stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soulmate--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mark--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the back of her mind she’s already made this connection, but thinking about it again, knowing it’s real, gives the whole thing a sort of edge she wasn’t prepared for. Imagining it as a child is one thing, but experiencing it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>having it on her skin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is another thing entirely. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Having a connection to another person </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a thought that’s terrifying and wonderful all at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>she barely knows this person. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s suddenly acutely aware that the panic is back, tinged with her own worries and, she now realizes, his, and she bites down hard on her lip until her eyes water. Last night, she’d been so dead-set on finding her soulmate, but now that she’s here…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s terrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She needs to go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fight or flight mode--</span>
  </em>
  <span>her mark pulses and she knows he’s coming, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to stand seeing him again. There’s an uncomfortable lump in her throat as she stands up, shoves her laptop into her back, flips her notebook closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She moves her cup to the center of the table but bumps the pen case; she curses softly as it falls, sending her pens and pencils clattering to the floor. They roll everywhere--under her table, under the tables across the room--and meanwhile she’s in the middle of the cafe, and the few customers that </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>inside are gawking at her, visibly amused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks burn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several things happen at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bell above the front door dings as the door opens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s muffled </span>
  <em>
    <span>“what the hell’s going on out there?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>sounds from behind the wall, in the kitchen, and Katara frantically lunges sideways, trying to claw at the pencils stranded underneath the table to her right. She’s flat against the floor as she lifts up one hand to heave herself upward, her palm flat against the table top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She realizes, at the worst possible moment, that this particular table isn’t bolted to the floor like the others.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole thing shifts, rattling, and she shuts her eyes, praying that her cup stays steady, but the unmistakable </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump </span>
  </em>
  <span>of her still-full cup bumping against the table is her only answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a yelp, she brings both hands up over her face, trying to protect herself from the inevitable spill. She shuts her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not a drop lands on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waits a second, listening, but opens her eyes when nothing happens and peers curiously up at the table. Her jaw </span>
  <em>
    <span>drops--</span>
  </em>
  <span>the tea is indeed spilling off the table, but it hovers above her in a sphere of milky brown, sending steam spiraling into the air. It would be pretty, if it wasn’t wickedly terrifying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Katara?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara gasps, startled, and jolts backward as the tea splashes onto the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara goes limp. Footsteps sound from around the corner. Sokka is dead silent as he steps in front of her, one black shoe tapping against the floor, and Katara finds herself wishing she could disappear on the spot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Man, Katara,” Sokka whistles, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really know how to make a scene, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can explain--” she begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> But Sokka just laughs. “No, I don’t think you can.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara groans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait until Suki sees this,” Sokka says, absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>wheezing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sokka please, isn’t this torture enough?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hell no,” he retorts, predictably. “This is going--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey, Sokka?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara freezes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy from yesterday is standing behind her brother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko, the point of a ‘day off’ is to go places that </span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t work,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sokka says without turning. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy--Zuko--clears his throat. Katara stares at him--to his credit, he at least looks as terrified as she is. “Well...actually...I was here to ask about her.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not this again,” Sokka mutters, perturbed. “Look, Zuko--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara jumps to her feet, bewildered. “I can speak for myself, Sokka.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stares at her. “You’re covered in tea.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...most of it landed on the floor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Most of it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sokka mimics with a huff. “Look--whatever. You two go off and have fun, okay? Don’t keep her out late, Zuko, I’ll kill you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko pales. “I--I didn’t come out here to ask her out, Sokka--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually, that sounds like a great idea.” Katara interrupts, flashing him a look. “Let me just grab my stuff, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth opens, then closes. No sound comes out. He’s utterly and irreparably startled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s adorable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sokka--” Katara begins, but her brother’s mumbling something about mopping and she knows when to leave him be, so she grabs her things--the tea avoided her backpack, thankfully, and she’s...got too much on her mind to wonder how </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>even happened--and heads toward the door. Toward Zuko. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks as she nears him, his expression clearing, and shuffles toward the door, holding it open as she passes through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both wait a moment outside. Katara’s… not really sure where to go from here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallows. “I guess we start with introductions,” she says, smiling at him. “Hi, I’m Katara.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko,” he mumbles, awkwardly extending his hand--the hand that belongs to the arm with the mark identical to her own, a fact that’s still sinking in, and Katara’s not sure how to feel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They shake hands, and both their marks </span>
  <em>
    <span>jump </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the movement, both marks glinting, flashing red and blue before pulsing like twin hearts, beating as one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tense sort of energy builds in Katara’s chest as she lets her hand fall to her side. Zuko swallows loudly, and the air around them twists, turns hot and cold all at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something...very strange happens when they’re around each other. Something very strange happens when they’re apart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she hasn’t had this mark for long, and she barely knows Zuko at all, but she gets the feeling tonight is important--that they’ll need each other, that without the other...these marks could be dangerous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sets her nerves aside and looks down the street. “There’s a pizza place a few blocks away--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get takeout from there all the time,” Zuko says. Then he frowns. “But...that doesn’t mean I won’t eat it again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Typical boy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Sure,” Katara grins. “Shall we?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, and together, they head down the street. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks so much for reading! leave a kudo' and comment on your way out--I love hearing what people think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sparks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Katara and Zuko get pizza and things are revealed</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’s not sure how to do this, and it makes him nervous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s...been on dates before, of varying kinds and lengths, but none of them held what he’s feeling now, in this moment. All of them felt forced--like in them, he was trying to be someone he wasn’t, like he was trying to act a certain way or play a certain part. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d stopped trying to look for people after he’d been forced to move for the fifth time. Once people knew who his family was, there was no going back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walk down the street without saying anything for at least a block. It’s his fault, Zuko knows--he’s socially inept and completely incapable of sounding like anything other than an idiot. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>an idiot. Suki tells him so all the time. And Toph. And--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, everyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mumbles out of the blue, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not...I mean, I can’t--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for springing this on you,” Katara says, her expression guarded when she turns to look at him. “I just...it was the only way to get out of there without Sokka making a scene and I already sort of...did that, so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did what?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara’s lips pinch together. “I’ll explain when we get inside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if someone hears?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like they’ll believe us anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fair, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zuko thinks, snorting. He barely believes it himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A taller, fair-haired girl stands by the doorway when they head inside the restaurant. Her eyes light up when she sees Zuko, but she looks Katara over appraisingly, her gaze narrowing on Katara’s face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Zuko,” she says, her tone not at all matching the kind smile on her face. “You brought a friend!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Table for two, please.” Katara’s voice is as cold as ice. The girl stares at her. Katara doesn’t flinch away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko clears his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waitress finally breaks away and turns, too stiff, and leads them to their table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara’s jaw is still tight when they sit down, but her eyes are glinting, and there’s a smile tugging across her lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko has zero idea what’s going on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you come here a lot?” Katara asks, nudging the napkin and silverware at her hand sideways a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko frowns. “Yeah, a few times a week. Why?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” That glint again--amused and curious and dark and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>blue. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Just interesting.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to ask why but doesn’t, and settles instead for staring at the table. It’s dirty--there are stray crumbs on the side they’re not sitting, and above them is a tv that’s blaring sports and tinny static. An old pop song plays over the speakers. There’s a splattering of spaghetti sauce on the wall next to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there’s so much tension between them, questions waiting to be asked and answered, but there’s waitresses milling around and chefs in the kitchen and there’s so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>noise </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it doesn’t feel like the right </span>
  <em>
    <span>time--</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko.” Katara’s voice takes on a worried edge. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opens eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d closed and frowns at her again, blinking. “Yeah, fine.” The words are dry and cracking. He reaches and grabs a water glass one of the waitresses sets down next to him, and when he grips it, steam emanates from where his fingers touch the iced-over edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up and finds Katara staring, wide-eyed. He nearly drops the glass. The cold is so intense it feels like his hands’ freezing on the spot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mutters clumsily, though his thoughts go back to the scorched blanket at his house, still on his bed, blackened in places and smelling of smoke and ash. “I--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You too, huh.?” Katara winces, stopping him cold. She runs one finger through the watery trail left by her own glass and makes a sour face. “At the cafe earlier--my tea spilled, and I managed to keep it off the floor before…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before Sokka startled you?” Zuko snorts, prompting a smile from Katara. “He does that a lot--yell, I mean.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Her lips twist into a knowing grin. “I know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to figure out these marks,” Katara says, her gaze following the waitress as she walks away.  “They feel...important, like--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Special,” Zuko nods, then realizes that it wasn’t what she was trying to say. His cheeks flush, but Katara just smiles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re right--they are special. They mean…we’re soulmates.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there’s a moment, when her gaze holds his, that Zuko can feel all the weight, the importance in that one single word. He can feel all the heat and the cold and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>energy </span>
  </em>
  <span>it holds, and for a second he’s confronted with the need to run--to get away, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hide </span>
  </em>
  <span>from it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara’s gaze roots him to the spot. He stares at her, and she stares back, and they just sit there, wordless. He wonders...he wonders if she’s confused too. Probably. Right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Katara says with a nervous laugh, “this is…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weird,” Zuko says, and Katara nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she hums, shaking her head. “It’s really weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s stomach growls. He stares at the table, wishing he had something to contribute, something--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My Gran used to tell me stories about this kind of thing,” Katara says, “I just...never thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a soulmate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t-- it’s not just us?” Zuko sputters out, his jaw dropping. “There are others?” It doesn’t make sense as he says it, and he’s embarrassed until Katara shrugs, not seeming to notice the flush across his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soulmates are rare, but not...impossible,” she says slowly, like she’s carefully choosing her words. She opens her mouth, and her whole face locks in a strange expression before she blurts out, “my brother has a soulmate.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko chokes on his water. “Your brother has </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A soulmate,” Katara says, like it’s not the second-most shocking thing Zuko’s heard that day. “You’ll...you’ll have to ask him about it.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wasn’t supposed to say anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the unfinished thought that rests on her face, resonates in their shared mark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their pizza comes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head’s still spinning when he takes the first bite. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka, the same Sokka he’s known for as long as he’s been at the cafe--the same Sokka who walks in hungover sometimes, the same Sokka who snaps at people then starts laughing with them in the same breath--has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>soulmate? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your pizza’s gonna get cold,” Katara says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks back to reality. “Oh. Yeah. Not hungry, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods. “Makes sense. Me either.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her piece is gone. There’s still an entire pizza left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara checks her phone, then sighs. “Sokka’ll worry if I’m out any later,” she says, tilting her head. “Sorry--I know we didn’t get to talk about much.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Zuko shrugs. “I’ll pay--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I can get it--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Katara--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I split the bill,” the waitress cuts in, handing them each a check. “You guys didn’t eat much.” Her expression is sour as she takes their empty plates, cups, and silverware. “Have a good night, I guess,” she says as she walks away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katarar’s eyes are wide as she stares at Zuko. He chokes down a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They box the pizza and each take half with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks Katara to her car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These powers--” Katara begins, but someone walks past them and she freezes, her breath hissing out in a white puff. “We should try not to use them.” She says, then, “at least not until we can control them.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Zuko nods. “Drive safe.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She throws her backpack into her car. “Zuko--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way she looks at him is intense. He frowns. “What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna have to...see each other again, to figure this out. Are you okay with that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s more than okay with it but he forces himself to nod, swallow, remember to breathe like a normal human being. “Makes sense.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” She tilts her head, stares up at the sky. Her eyes reflect the stars. “I’m gonna visit my Gran--show her. She’ll know something. I’ll let you know what I find, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Kay.” He walks to the other side of the car and opens the door for her. “Drive safe.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A strange look passes over her face, but she just nods again, smiles. “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cya, Katara.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bye.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eyes reflected the stars. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oops--it's almost been a month since I updated. I'll...try not to do that again. </p><p>Thanks for reading! Leave a kudo on your way out, 'kay? &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! leave a kudos and comment on your way out, 'kay?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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